


<0193.27.implications_and_peripherals.doc>

by murakistags



Category: Hannibal (TV), Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hallucinations, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Medical Procedures, Multi, On the Run, Recreational Drug Use, tyrelliot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7705297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/pseuds/murakistags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{Post-S3 Hannibal and (AU) Post-S1 Mr. Robot. Tags to be updated as the story progresses.}</p><p>Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Elliot Alderson, and Tyrell Wellick have all escaped the United States with news of their respective federal crimes behind them. Hannibal and Will for murder, manipulation, and cannibalism…Elliot and Tyrell for murder, manipulation, and the worst cyberattack the world has ever seen.</p><p>As fate would have it, these four FBI's Most Wanted find themselves crossing paths in Sweden while hiding away from conviction and remaking their lives out of the public eye. A string of violence and manipulation ensnares them all, brings up painful memories and new secrets, remnants of lives they all once held and uncertain promises of the future. As it turns out, Will Graham is more connected to Elliot and an old E-Corp scandal coverup than any of them ever knew. …What a mess they've all gotten themselves into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. <ch.01_ihackedhim.docx>

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently rewatched S1 Mr. Robot for the second time, S1-S3 Hannibal for the fifth time, and thus this brainchild was born. It's wild and intense all that I have in mind for this work, and I really hope some can get behind it with me. Here's to hoping. Leave me comments and kudos– they're my fuel. Especially when I'm feeling a tad insecure about getting this work started. 
> 
> Bon appétit.

_His name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter._

_The ‘doctor’ title stands for a medical degree, and a doctorate in psychology. He’s not one of those overly-pretentious men who tack on every last one of their merits as suffixes in the setting of academia. In all of his publishings and research– and there is a **lot** of it–, Dr. Lecter is notably humble. Maybe too humble for such a master of his craft in both psychiatry and surgery. He's currently only U.S. board-certified in the former, but was apparently a prodigy at the latter before that. Why would he switch to such completely opposite fields? That caught my eye._

_I hacked him right after our first session together, and it was easy._

_His name and face just so happen to align perfectly with the FBI’s single most wanted criminal in the entire world right now. Why he hasn't changed his identity is beyond me. Maybe he’s playing it safe by not risking suspicion. But maybe he’s just stupid enough to believe nobody will ever recognize him._

_But seeing as he's wanted for various counts of homicide and defilement of corpses among other warrants, maybe Dr. Lecter knows exactly what he's doing. Wouldn't it be easy to just strangle to death anyone who threatens his integrity? In this little Swede town filled mostly with tourists, nobody would bat an eyelash at a missing traveller._

_He's smart. Too smart._

_Dr. Lecter is originally from Lithuania. Specifically, he's from the northeastern region called Aukštaitija. Within that is Anykščiai Town, a small place filled with less than 12,000 people, numerous castles, and long, winding roads, just bordering the Šventoji River. That's where he was born and raised. I Googled local pictures of the place, and it looks like something right out of a storybook. So does the Lecter dvaras. It's like some Little Red Riding Hood-level creepy. And Dr. Lecter’s the Big Bad Wolf, gobbling up those who unfortunately cross his path._

_I'm in his path too, but I like to think I'm in control for now. That can't be an illusion, can it?_

“Elliot?”

_There's a home address with Dr. Lecter’s name online. It's 317 Rivington Drive, in Baltimore, Maryland, in the US. His office address isn't more than twenty minutes from there. Now, I’ve never been further out of New York City than to the next states over, but a quick search tells me that he's sitting on a good amount of cash. His neighborhood is upscale and filled with ornate churches and quaint shoppes, the type of two-story houses that open with thick columns and probably have stained wood floors and wainscoting in the parlour. It's the exact opposite of my old little ratty apartment in Chinatown. I don't resent him for it, I'm just curious because of it. With that kind of money, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to find evidence in my father’s case. Not to mention I could be filling my closets with enough morphine and suboxone to last me a lifetime. Maybe I'd even adopt another dog or two. Or three, even though Tyrell would lose his mind living in the same house with a pack of barking dogs._

_But none of that matters, anyway. Dr. Lecter isn't in the United States anymore. He’ll probably never visit his old home and office again. He's on the run here in Ystad, Skåne County, Sweden, just like me. It’s fucking crazy how the universe works, crossing our paths. The international police would have a field day with this._

_Dr. Lecter likes fancy things. Fancy clothes and fancy trinkets, fancy furniture and food… He reminds me a little of a finicky cat. That means he reminds me a little of Tyrell, too. Blood’s on both of their confident hands and secrets are beneath their impeccable suits and slicked hair, handsome faces, but…maybe that's as far as connections go between Hannibal Lecter and Tyrell Wellick. I mean, that's all I can see right now. I wonder what Tyrell would say if I told him. Heh._

_Dr. Lecter doesn't use the Internet excessively, but his Google search history involves Bon Appétit articles, local news and weather, EPub medical journals, and a lot of classical music streaming. It also involves Tattlecrime, a kitschy online tabloid journal that seems to feature him and his ‘Murder Husband’ Will Graham every other day. They're still a hot topic in some niche circles, even though it's been about a year since their alleged eloping together off a cliff. Everyone's trying to steal a glimpse of Dr. Lecter and Special Agent Graham fucking on the beach with flower crowns on their heads, or something like that. I'm pretty sure it's more for the twisted appeal of some fucked-up romantic love story. Look in any bookstore and you’ll see that a combination of romance and murder and sex sells most. It has appeal. That's probably exactly why Tyrell and I have fan-clubs all over the Internet also._

_Either way, the world’s a goddamn mess of blood and corrupt money, and both the Murder Husbands and Tyrell and I as fsociety’s most wanted helped to create it._

_I'm just still trying to save the world…you know?_

“Elliot? Are you listening?”

_I should leave a nice anonymous tip for the FBI that their main man Hannibal the Cannibal has been living it up in Sweden for the past few months. I have his home address, his IP, all of his identification and all that… But something’s stopping me._

_What is it? What is it? Why can't I turn him in?_

_There's something about him when he looks at me. He's nothing like Krista, my old psychiatrist. She was mousy in her own way, and it was nice. But Dr. Lecter is on an entirely different level. His eyes are like fire, his mind is so sharp and his academic merits so real that he could very well change the world if he wanted to. In fact, he **has** changed the world._

_How many people have been inspired by his story? How many people have been inspired by my story?_

“Elliot, I think that is perhaps enough for today.”

_Shit. Has he been talking to me this entire time?_

“Uh, yeah. …Sorry, Dr. Lecter. I'm just a little…distracted. Tired. Couldn’t sleep so well last night.”

_He's looking at me so intensely. He knows I'm lying. I can see it in the way his head tilts just a little to the left, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. There's no way a doctor should be staring so sharply at a patient. It's not a friendly look. It's the beady gaze of the Big Bad Wolf. And I'm the little idiot dressed in red and running up to him, waiting for the slaughter._

_Shit, shit, shit. Why am I scared? Why can I feel panic inside of me?_

_That's exactly why I can't turn him in. He's wrestling for control and he's actually winning it like it's no more than a petty thumb-war. And he's barely doing anything at all. It's all me on self-destruct. My lethal kernel panic. I have to go. I have to leave, I have to go home, I have to tell Tyrell, I have to do something._

“Has it been recurrent lately, this trouble sleeping?”

“…A little, yeah. Just getting used to the new house and all that.”

_He's smiling and it's **fucking** horrifying how sweet and kind he looks on the surface. He's killed and eaten people like me, there's no doubt about that. Maybe he knows who I am. Maybe he's playing a game as well. Maybe I was never in control._

_Just like he gave me his real name, I gave him mine. Elliot Alderson. A few select keystrokes by the FBI Agent husband of his, and they'll see my face plastered on the internet alongside Tyrell Wellick’s. The four of us, all on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, evading capture in every single breath we collectively take. I can't turn him in. He’ll know it's me. He knows, he knows, **goddamn, he knows**._

“Well then, do try and get your rest. If it persists, we can explore it in our next sessions. It could be something pressing on your mind, keeping you awake at night.”

_He's right. It’s Dr. Lecter himself on my mind, and not in a good way._

“Yeah. …Thanks, Dr. Lecter.”

“Of course. I'll see you next Thursday as usual, then?”

“Next Thursday, six o’clock. Got it.”

“Excellent. God kväll, Elliot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


	2. <ch.02_theyknow.doc>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Mini-chapter!) Will thinks Hannibal is being quite paranoid. Hannibal doesn't think he is being paranoid at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is…a mini-chapter! I've been so busy lately, I've barely had time to focus. But at least I've managed to get another small bit of this work out and written. I'm surprised at the amount of positive feedback on this work so far! It is definitely encouragement to write, so keep it coming if you like what I'm writing. …Which is why I present this small ‘mini-chapter’ so that I don't leave you lovely readers for too, too long without any updates. Please enjoy, and excuse the brevity (and any typos)! I will do my best to make the next update a little more lengthy.
> 
> Bon appétit.

“…Hannibal, I know we're both not exactly the ideal poster children for solid and rational decision-making, but I've never known you to be so goddamn paranoid.”

“Will, I would appreciate if you perhaps took my words a little more seriously this time. He _knows_.”

“Do you _hear_ yourself right now? He's just a kid who's somehow– and strangely enough– managed to get under your skin. It's weird, but…it happens. Even you're not immune to a little paranoia, I guess. Maybe my empathy is rubbing off on you.”

“He is far older than a ‘kid.’ …And I am not _paranoid_ , William. I am stating facts. Please listen to me.”

Two things hit Special Agent Will Graham square in the face, in that moment. One is the fact that desperation, clear as crystal, hangs on every one of Hannibal's words. Will gives him no slack in playing the Devil's advocate in this strange situation, but Hannibal is neither resorting to violence, nor is he backing down and away. Two is the fact that Hannibal just said Will's full name. That always means he's serious to boot, and Hannibal's seemingly limitless patience is very steadily reaching a limit after all. No asymptotes of genuine blank peace to be found in this ‘blissful married life.’

Long moments pass them by.

“…You're really being serious about this, aren't you, Hanni? You really think he knows it's you.”

A silent and slow nod from the psychiatrist is all the reply that is needed. Hannibal himself hates how his feathers have gotten ruffled and his nerves worked up with…well, paranoia. Except that this is not exactly paranoia. It is the truth. There is no concrete evidence of it being the truth that Dr. Lecter's patient, Elliot Alderson, knows just about everything there is to know about Hannibal the Cannibal. But, then again, the name Hannibal has never, ever been associated with genuine physical evidence. Why start now?

“…Okay. Erm… D-Did he _say_ something? Like, to indicate that he knows it's you?”

“No.”

“Was he looking at you strangely?”

“No.”

A deep sigh.

“…Then maybe you're overthinking this, Hanni.”

“No.”

“Hannibal–”

“I loathe to even play this card, so to speak, but you have left me little choice: Allow me to be candid and remind you that I have spent many years avoiding capture from the law before meeting you, Will. All by the very same token for self-preservation that you now incorrectly deem to be ‘paranoia.’”

Hannibal has a solid point, and both he and Will know it. Will is at first hesitating to admit it, but Hannibal truly does know more about this kind of thing than he does. As much as he knows and can see Hannibal past the media's fanfare about his ‘wicked and monstrous’ nature, Will still doesn't want to believe any of this.

Mainly because it means all of their work up to now, to settle here in Sweden and form a home, comfort and stability, will wash away to the sea. It'll tumble over the rocks and plummet until the sharp waves rip apart every little brick and board they've begun to erect in this new life. After everything… _this_ is exactly what neither of them need.

Sitting there before a lush and cracking fireplace, each of them with two fingers of whiskey in crystal tumblers, the room feels oddly cold. The warmth from flickering embers and the alcohol in their bellies holds no weight any longer. Suddenly the walls are cold as ice. Liquid nitrogen. It freezes in their veins.

“Pass me your iPad, Hanni.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


End file.
